Consequence
by vanillacookie53
Summary: Being uprooted from his home in the middle of his A-levels was something Gregory Lestrade could have really done without. Being moved in with the Holmes' was taking the piss.


Being uprooted from his home in the middle of his A-levels was something Gregory Lestrade could have really done without.

Being moved in with the Holmes' was taking the piss.

His mum had gotten a job as Nanny and tutor to Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes - something that Greg still found ridiculous. The fact that the boys parents thought they needed tutoring was hilarious in itself. His mum was smart, he wouldn't deny that, but anything she knew one of the boys would probably know. All the same, in return for taking on the job she would be getting a more than healthy wage and could move into the Holmes' manor with full use of it's facilities for her and her son.

Moving into a manor probably ten times the size of his previous home should have been far more exciting than it was but he just didn't want to move in general. Although he wouldn't be changing schools, he would be further away from most of his friends with only Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes on the other side; he'd be moving from practically the middle of town to a field somewhere on the outskirts. It wasn't easy on either of them, but as his mother so insistently pointed out, they needed the money. Besides, Greg had his bike. It was easy enough to get into town when he wanted.

"Do people really still live in mansions and stuff? You know, with all the maids running around? And dinner suits. God, please don't tell me I have to wear a dinner suit..." Greg whined, leaning back in his seat in the car, legs spread out as far as they would go in front of him.

"You won't have to wear a dinner suit." His mum, Molly, chuckled in reply.

"Thank god!" Greg rushed out.

"Most of the time." She added with a smirk.

"Ugh!" Greg grunted dramatically. "kill me now! Just kill me now!"

"Jesus, Greg. We wont be eating with the family. We'll be eating on our own, or with the other help. You don't need to wear a dinner suit, stop being a drama queen."

"So they do have maids."

"They have _help_. Some... maids, yes, but mainly just a cook, me, a Butler maybe... it's not as grand as it used to be."

"Jesus! They have a Butler?!"

Molly just sighed and shook her head at him as she turned onto the Holmes' driveway and stopped at the gate.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I expect you to behave yourself."

"Mm."

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"I said-"

"I heard you the first time, mummy."

Mrs Holmes sighed as she adjusted Sherlock's shirt, straightening out the collar a little. Once she was content with it, she squeezed his shoulder lightly with a soft sigh.

"I know you don't want a Nanny or a tutor... But with your father's job taking him abroad more often, and my job keeping me in at all hours, I need someone to keep an eye on you."

"Michael keeps an eye on us." Sherlock insisted, looking up at his mother with wide eyes that he hoped would convince her to send this _Miss Lestrade_ home.

"Yes, but that's not his job. He's a Butler, not a babysitter." Mrs Holmes - Violet - smirked as she moved away from her youngest son and took his pyjamas from where they'd been chucked onto the bed.

"It might as well be! Just give him a raise. He'd do it without a fuss! Why bother getting someone new in when we already get along with him?" Sherlock whined the moment he realised that the wide-eyed look wasn't working, flopping back onto the bed and messing up his shirt all over again.

"He already looks after the other staff. I'm sure he doesn't want two more responsibilities on his plate." She pointed out, a well-shapen eyebrow raising at her son as she folded up his trousers, holding them against her stomach lightly once she'd done so.

"Mycroft is old enough to look after himself and all I need is someone to help me with my experiments. She won't teach us anything new, you know."

"I know, sweetheart, but it's not the academic side I want her to help you with." She explained softly, before heading to the door. "Just be downstairs and ready in ten minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever." Sherlock grumbled, waving a hand dismissively.

Mrs Holmes smirked a little, shaking her head at him before stepping out of the room. Sherlock made a point of letting out a groan - just to make sure she knew how much he wasn't looking forward to this.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They paused at the gate, waiting until what he assumed was a sensor had read the number plate and soon enough they were let through and they continued onward. As they passed the gates, Greg couldn't help but roll his eyes. They were literally on a country road. Trees were overhanging above them, creating an almost arch-like shape and shading the road from the sun beating down. The surface wasn't tarmac, either, instead made up of a mixture of gravel and sand that created a soft crunching sound under the wheels that was surprisingly calming.

The road wound on and on until they came out onto open space with a view that had Greg's jaw dropping.

Around them was acres of land, spanning out further than he could see. He'd never seen grass as green or plants as well kept as that surrounding him as they drove the last few meters.

Up ahead was a circular end to the drive way, a fountain in the middle, water trickling from the lips of a marble fish that sat on the upper-most level. His eyes finally focused on the house as they drove around the circle and his mother parked up near the door, the chauffeur already standing ready to park their car around the back in the garage where the Holmes' cars sat - Greg missed that conversation though.

Instead, he was taking in the grandeur of the manor before him. The house itself was four stories high, the left and right wings standing at what looked like a 135 degree angle to bring the outer wings around the drive. Aside from the front door - something Greg swore should belong on a church, not a home - there were another few dotted towards the furthermost sides of each wing of the home. They were far smaller but equally as beautiful. Despite the windows clearly not being the double-glazed kind that Greg was used to at home, they were huge and they looked far more sturdy and thick than any Greg had seen before. Some were plain, two-paned ensembles that parted in the middle but others were far more grand. Some of them had designs carved into them, while others were painted. Greg supposed those would be the windows of the dining rooms and maybe even the ballroom he'd heard Mycroft mention when he'd passed him in the hall at school once.

The stone of the building itself was all a light, sandy colour that Greg recognised as Bath Stone, and it made him wonder just who had built this house out of a stone found at the other side of the country. Unless it was a very good fake version - he'd have to ask Mycroft one day.

"Gregory."

"Coming." Greg rushed out quickly as he was snapped from his awe, rushing after his mum and into the foyer where the Holmes' were all stood. Mr and Mrs Holmes stood at the right, Mr Holmes' arm around his wife's middle, and Sherlock and Mycroft stood to their left. Mycroft stood closest to him, a little shorter than his father but taller than his mother, and Sherlock stood the shortest of them all - though he suspected it wouldn't be like that for long. He'd barely stepped in for very long before a dog came bounding up to him, tongue hanging out and tail wagging excitedly. His tongue slid back in as he started to sniff at Greg's jeans, seemingly working out if he should be trusting him or not.

"Miss Lestrade." Mrs Holmes greeted, stepping closer to his mother, hand held out slightly.

"Mrs Holmes." Molly greeted, going to bow her head in respect, not sure how else to act.

"Oh, no no, none of that. Please, call me Violet." She smiled warmly, resting her hand over the other woman's, before trailing her eyes to Gregory. He was dressed smartly compared to his usual dress, wearing a black shirt, red tie and black - ironed! - jeans. His converse had been scrubbed clean just the day before, so the white was gleaming nearly as much as they day he bought them; Still, the look on her face told him everything about her opinion on his clothing choice. "This must be your son, Gregory."

"Yes, yes... I hope it's no trouble that he's come with me." Molly answered, glancing to her son as the dog finished sniffing at his leg. Greg quickly ruffled his ears, before the dog was happily plodding back to sit beside Sherlock at the end.

"Oh, not at all. My boys will enjoy the company."

Greg glanced over to the two, Sherlock's nose curling up at the sheer thought of that, but Mycroft's expression stayed neutral. He pulled his eyes back to their mother and smiled.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." he answered, taking her hand lightly and kissing the top of it like he'd seen done in the movies. Sherlock very nearly snorted, a small sound coming out, and Greg could see the hints of a smirk appearing on Mycroft's face and so his cheeks flushed a deep, dark red. Mrs Holmes just chuckled and patted his cheek lightly.

"Such a charmer."

Greg's skin was crawling by the time she moved to her Husband who had come forward to greet them too. The one thing he'd hated most about that wasn't the embarrassment so much, but how obviously fake Mrs Holmes was being. The overly-friendly smiling and brushing every single thing off as though it was nothing was the type of behaviour anyone would give to come across as a good hostess but Violet didn't appear to know the right limit to hit - which, in fairness, surprised Greg. The greeting from Siger, Mycroft's father, was far more brief with simply a kiss to the cheek for his mother and a shake of Greg's hand before he was ordering one of the - Oh, look! - maids, to help take their things to their rooms.

Greg was glad for the reprieve. Sherlock and Mycroft had rushed off before Gregory could even turn around, probably going off to plot Greg's murder, but for now he didn't bother worrying himself about it. Instead, he lugged his guitar case from the backseat, tucking it onto his back, and pulled one of the suitcases and his schoolbag that he'd stuffed with his things from the boot and followed the maid and what he thought was the Butler up to their rooms.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Stop laughing." Mycroft grumbled tiredly, arm laid over his eyes as he laid out on the sofa in his room.

"He _kissed her hand_, Mycroft!" Sherlock snorted, practically rolling on the floor.

"It's a perfectly polite thing to do. Just because you wouldn't do that, doesn-"

"It's an ancient thing to do! Something Papa's business partners do when they come for dinner. Gregory is _living with us_. Will he kiss her hand every morning at dinner? It's ridiculous, Mycroft! Someone needs to teach him appropriate manners."

"You sound like father." he grumbled.

"No I don't!" Sherlock whined petulantly.

"Yes you do." Mycroft replied simply - boredly, in fact. He sighed as he turned to sitting. "Just think of it this way... you can't spend your life laughing at the target of many experiments to come."

As Mycroft wandered past Sherlock towards the bookshelf in their recreation room, Sherlock's lips curled into a smirk and he sat back in his beanbag, pulling out his phone to start his note making.


End file.
